


Blatherskite

by Creatortan



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: Cafe AU, M/M, coffee shop AU, title and tags will probably change if I write more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:37:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4694051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creatortan/pseuds/Creatortan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing Jonathan did was very exciting; he lived a boring, monotonous life and he didn't really mind it, but of course it's on his shift that some weirdo is passed out under a table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blatherskite

**Author's Note:**

> This might become a slice-of-life type fic where these two nerds fall in love, but it would be very, very highly inconsistent. I got so ridiculously lazy at the end it's ridiculous.

Jonathan Combs was one to dislike many things. People, conversations, blue cheese, children, alphabetizing, blood, being a sociable person-

 

Well, the point was that Jonathan’s job was one of the few things he didn’t actively dislike. Now, that was not to say he enjoyed his job or anything, he just couldn’t find reason to place it above “minor annoyance”, a rare treat that sat snugly in “tolerable”.

 

He worked the early-morning shift in a little nondescript cafe with the name faded on the sign. It wasn’t a spectacular place, not at all. Mostly, its popularity came from the fact that it was one of the only places in that part of town that served coffee without a stupid green mermaid slapped on the front.

 

While Jonathan wasn’t too keen on waking up at 4 a.m. for this job, it was still one of the best gigs he’d held down for a while. He was the first one to arrive, Monday through Thursday, and left before the lunch rush. His job mainly consisted of prepping the joint and some general cleaning before opening. Actual serving wasn’t all that exciting, just some early morning joggers or dead-eyed businesspeople.

 

Not that his job was ever exciting. Or anything, really. Jonathan’s life was pretty boring for the most part, which, hey, couldn’t complain. He had it better than other 19 year-olds he knew.

 

The blond slipped into the narrow alley to get to the back door, the musky scent of mildew making him gag. He kicked at the door when it wouldn’t open, muttering curses to himself as he jiggled the key in the old lock. The bright fluorescent lights buzzed to life when he flicked the switch. Jonathan slunk past the mountain of cardboard boxes over to the rusted metal plates he called a “locker.” He unzipped his gray hoodie, inspecting the frayed hem before haphazardly tossing it into the locker. He grabbed a faded blue apron from the hook by the clipboard, putting it on and signing in. He did so only because he knew there was a snake somewhere who always checked the tapes and ratted him out if he didn’t. God forbid he not wear an apron.

 

He stuck in his earbuds, maxing out the volume and hitting play as he wiped down the kitchen, checked stock, and a few other things. Then he grabbed a broom and stepped out, absent-mindedly sweeping. He kind of zoned out, not really seeing or thinking.

 

The broom hit something and Jonathan snapped back into focus. He looked down, not really expecting to find anything. A shoe? Yes, that was a boot of some sort. He leaned over to the side to see under the table. He jumped back with a yelp, hand clutched over his heart.

 

The boot was attached to a person.

 

Bracing the broom in both hands, Jonathan nudged the person’s foot with his shoe. He held his breath, carefully kicking them again. When they didn’t stir, he set the broom aside and crouched down to get a better look, resting his hands on his knees. Of course it would be on his shift some weirdo is found unconscious in the cafe. He grimaced, sucking in air through his teeth.

 

They looked pretty small, and young, maybe 14 at the most. Their outfit was well...something. Fluffy brown hair poked out from a rainbow beanie, an orangey tie with a fish pattern hung loosely around their neck, a pale blue turtleneck with the sleeves cut off, black overall...shorts, at least that’s what he thought they were called, and purple checkered tights.

 

Jonathan furrowed his brow; they seemed harmless enough. He bit his cheek, rising back to a stand. He glanced back at boot on the floor. Could he lose his job over this? He probably could. Maybe this person is actually a druggie or a serial killer or anything else but a harmless middle school kid. Against his better judgement, Jonathan took the broom back in his hands and continued sweeping.

 

His eyes constantly darted back to the person under the table. How did they get in? Did they work the late shift or something? How long had they been asleep there? The blond tried to zone out again, turning up the volume on his iPod only to realize it was already maxxed. He bit at his thumbnail. It’d been ten minutes and Jonathan was sure he hadn’t seen them move once.

 

Wait. Oh god, were they _dead?_

 

Jonathan nervously turned his head, eyes locking with the worn brown boot. Had it shifted a bit or was it always at that angle? Taking a deep breath, he set the broom aside, crouching by them, scooting the chair away from their head to get a better look. He leaned down on his hands and knees, searching for movement.

 

The person’s eyes shot open, shocking Jonathan. The blond yelped, jumping back and knocking over the chair he’d just moved. His heart thudded in his chest, swamping his hearing. He swallowed thickly, slowly moving backwards.

 

The person wriggled out from under the table and sat up, stretching.They adjusted their hat before turning to Jonathan, staring at him with the sharpest green eyes he had ever seen.

 

“Hi! I’m Sock!” The person chirped, smiling brightly. They placed their hands on their back and bent backward, cracking their spine. They exhaled deeply and flicked some of their bangs out of their face.

 

Jonathan stared stupidly. The person--Sock--stood up, doing what looked like lunges. “Swanky place ya got,” Sock looked around, curiously, mumbling to himself, “Wonder how I got here.”

 

Jonathan shook his head, his mind finally rebooting. He blinked, scrambling to stand.

 

“Who are you?” he demanded, a finger pointed at the person’s chest. Jonathan wrenched his face into a glare and straightened out his hunched back, dwarfing the small brunet.

 

“I told you, I’m Sock!” Sock took the finger pointed at them and shook it, not at all intimidated. If anything, they seemed to brighten up. “Well, I mean, if you want to get technical, it’s actually Napoleon Sowachowski, but uh, please just keep it Sock.”

 

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “Sowachowski?” he repeated dully, eyes dragging over Sock. The name seemed extremely familiar.

 

“Oh my god.” Jonathan’s eyes widened, “You’re that rich kid who ran away from home!” It had been all over the news a couple months back; the son of a rich brain surgeon from two towns over had ran off without a trace. Jonathan couldn’t go two seconds without hearing the doctor’s monotone voice blathering on about the state of the youth and oppression and money and whatever else rich people thought the rest of us did.

 

“Ah, shoot! I thought people would’ve forgotten about me already!” Sock’s face twisted into a frown. He whined loudly, pulling his beanie down to cover his face, and Jonathan could see Sock’s cheeks turn pink from where the hat couldn’t reach.

 

“News flash: when you’re on the run, maybe giving out your full name isn’t the best idea.” Jonathan almost chuckled, before he cut it off with an exasperated sigh. Still, he couldn’t hide his grin, so he looked away, coughing into his elbow awkwardly.

 

“Hey...you’re not gonna rat me out right?” Sock glanced at Jonathan, eyebrows upturned, hands fiddling with his pockets.  His voice was muffled, chin buried in his turtleneck, and Jonathan strained to hear him. The blond took out his earbud, the other dangling at his neck, and played with his iPod, grinning deviously.

 

“I don’t know, man, there was a pretty big reward…” Jonathan sighed dramatically, seemingly focused on his iPod. He turned away from Sock, tapping the device to his chin as if in deep thought.

 

“Please, please, please, don’t turn me in! I’ll do anything, just, please don’t let them find me; I swear I’ll-” Sock squawked loudly, rushing forward to grab at Jonathan’s apron. His big green eyes stared up pathetically, and he jittered around, bouncing in place.

 

Jonathan plucked the hands from off of his apron, pushing Sock away. He held the brunet at arm’s length. “Geeze, kid, relax, I was joking.”

 

Sock grinned widely, squealing. Variations of “You’re not turning me in” toppled from his mouth in a sloppy jumble of words. He jumped up and threw his arms around Jonathan, forcing the blond to grab at Sock’s waist to prevent both of them from falling.

 

“Hey, HEY-” He pushed the other off of him, ignoring his accelerating heartbeat. “Watch it there.”

 

Jonathan picked the broom up again, intent on finishing the damned sweeping. He rubbed at his face, willing his blush to do down. Damned Sowachowski; who nuzzles their cheek into a stranger’s face anyways? He grumbled to himself, trying to think of anything else as he swept.

 

A couple of minutes passed in silence and Jonathan had this uncomfortable feeling at the back of his neck; when he turned around, lo and behold, it’s Sock. The kid was just...standing there, staring, with his unnaturally bright, unblinking eyes.

 

“Are you going to do something or just stand there?” Jonathan snapped sharply, looking anywhere but at Sock, gripping the broom a little tighter.

 

Sock tilted his head and blinked slowly, before grinning.

 

“Anything I can do, boss?” He asked with a faux salute.

 

Jonathan glanced around dumbly. “No? Not really?” He’d already done most of the easy chores, and he didn’t really trust Sock to do whatever was left. The kid seemed cheery, but anyone could take from the register and bolt. He’s seen the elderly try it with the tip jar before.

 

Sock deflated, pouting. He marched over to the toppled chair, dramatically lifting it above his head before setting it upright gently. He took a seat, kicking his legs childishly, watching.

 

Jonathan stuck his earbuds back in and continued sweeping, trying to shake that “watched” feeling off. He finished up and had the “closed” sign halfway switched to “open” when he glanced back at Sock. The kid was picking at his hands, and Jonathan found himself concerned for some reason.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked bluntly.

 

Sock looked up, startled. “Oh, uh, I kinda scraped up my hands a while back. It’s no big deal.” The brunet quickly hid his hands under the table, accidentally bumping them on the way down. Sock winced with a whimper, staring at his hands, frowning.

 

Suspicious.

 

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. He walked over to Sock. “Let me see.”

 

“No, no, it’s okay, I swear, I’m fine,” Sock mumbled, averting his eyes. He held his hands to his chest.

 

“Let me see, Sock.” Jonathan put emphasis on Sock’s name, holding out his hand.

 

Sock bit his lip before slowly raising his hands to Jonathan, palms up.

 

Jonathan furrowed his brow; Sock’s hands were a myriad of pinks, reds, and purples. The blond sighed and held up a finger, his other hand pinching his brow. He hurried to the back room, returning with the first aid kit. He plopped into the chair by the brunet, the small white box between them. Jonathan flicked open the case, pulling out bandages and various creams. He gently cradled Sock’s hands in his own, unknowingly tugging the other closer to him, as he inspected the injuries.

 

Sock shifted uncomfortably as Jonathan looked over his hands. He could feel the blond’s breath ghost over his palms, and decided to focus more on the stinging of the antiseptic instead of the fingers curled lightly around his wrist. Sock bit his lip, whimpering every so often. The only other sounds were the lazy ceiling fan and the rumble of the occasional car outside. Sock tried to convince himself the warmth in his cheeks was from sunlight leaking in through the curtained windows.

 

“Mind telling me what happened?” Jonathan glanced up, applying another bandage to Sock’s forefinger.

“...Cat walking.” Sock glanced to the side, cheeks puffing out with a pout.

 

Jonathan choked back a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand.

 

“Don’t laugh! That cat was mean!” Sock frowned. His face reddenned, and he confusedly pushed down the odd burst of elation he felt from seeing the blond’s smile.

 

“Alright, alright.” Jonathan treated the scratches and what looked to be rope burn on the brunet’s hands. He made sure to use the cute, cartoony bandaids, much to Sock’s glee.

 

Sock watched intently, transfixed by the way the other tended to his wounds, almost expertly, if he had to describe it.

 

“How are you so good at this?”

 

“The things you pick up when your mother is a klutz.” Jonathan’s voice was quiet and affectionate.

 

He grinned softly, and Sock had to look away. The sun gently swathed the blond in a golden light and his blue eyes seemed so much brighter and Sock could intimately feel the heat from his hands; his mind was moving a mile a minute and he didn’t know why. He blinked confusedly, clearing his head.

 

Jonathan checked over Sock’s mummified hands once more, nodding at his handiwork, as he started packing up the kit. Sock swung his legs, counting the bandages on his hands.

 

Jonathan dug around his pocket and held out his iPod to Sock his. “I don’t know if we have the same taste, but…” he shrugged.

 

Sock smiled brightly, pushing up his beanie to reveal his ears. The light caught on three silver studs in each of Sock’s earlobes; Jonathan quirked an eyebrow. Sock grinned happily, not noticing Jonathan’s quizzical look, and plucked the iPod out of the blond’s hands, sticking in the earbuds.

 

Sock jumped at the sudden volume before scrambling to turn it down. He felt a little mean, but Jonathan chuckled anyways. Don’t give him that look; he forgot it was that loud.

 

Jonathan flipped the sign to “open” then slunk back over to behind the counter. He lazily rested his face in his hand, listening to Sock hum and staring at the clock, waiting. The usuals came and went as they always did, not looking up until Sock said hello. Jonathan mumbled out a “good morning”, barely hearing the replied greeting; it’s not like the customer cared much either. Sock, on the other hand, valiantly tried to coax smiles out of every passerby, succeeding only a quarter of the time and instead either getting ignored or glared at otherwise. The lack of caffeine overrode most people’s desire for politeness. Those who did smile at him gave weak, tired grins, but grins none the less.

 

“What a nice child,” a 60 year-old widower commented, handing Sock an old hard candy. She patted him on the head, and he practically glowed.

 

“Aren’t you worried someone else is going to recognize you?” Jonathan bit back a grin. He stepped out with a rag, wiping down some tables; they didn’t particularly need to be wiped down again, but there was really nothing else to do. Sock was dancing in his seat to the music, pulling out an earbud when he heard Jonathan. He fixated his eyes on Jonathan, not blinking as much as a person should be, the blond noted.

 

“Not really...I mean, you only knew me because I told you my name.”

 

“Fair enough,” Jonathan shrugged, carelessly chucking the rag across the room and over the counter. With nothing more to do, Jonathan stood at the table near Sock, shifting his weight and messing with his hair, muttering to himself. Much to the blond’s dismay, the room could’ve been described as “deathly quiet” and “about as awkward as when Jonathan’s homecoming date met his parents”. Jonathan’s face screwed up into an uncomfortable grimace; the silence was wholly unnerving, but Jonathan’s social skills weren’t exactly the best, thank you very much. Sock didn’t seem to mind, however, based on the way he happily played the knife game with a spare straw he found on the windowsill. Jonathan cleared his throat, rubbing at his neck.

 

God, I know I probably deserve this somehow but if you could make something happen I swear I’ll have my ass in a pew this weekend. Jonathan’s eyes drifted to the ceiling desperately. The one time he actually wanted customers...

 

Sock’s stomach growled loudly. The brunet whimpered quietly, clutching his stomach. He glanced over at the counter longingly, the rows of sugary pastries made his mouth water and his jaw ache uncomfortably; he whined again.

 

“Want anything?”  Jonathan frowned; the kid looked like a damned kicked puppy.  Sock looked up in disbelief, eyes wide, still clutching his stomach. He searched Jonathan’s face.

 

“Do you have anything with raspberry? I love raspberry!” Soch grinned weakly, the promise of food made his stomach twist in painful knots. It had been maybe a day? Or two? Living on the lap of an obscenely rich doctor had never left him hungry for more than two minutes. His body wasn’t handling the change of scenery very well.

 

Jonathan’s eyes tracked Sock’s expressions with acute worry. He hurried to the counter, biting his lip. He brought back a danish and some juice. Sock wiped some drool from his lip without thought, staring as if the meal would disappear when he took a bite. Jonathan nudged the danish closer to the brunet, not missing the way Sock’s nails dug into the fabric of his overalls. After a tense moment, Sock gingerly picked up the danish, still staring in wonder. He took a small bite, gasping quietly, before completely devouring the pastry. He had the whole thing stuffed in his mouth in about two bites. The image of a chipmunk popped into Jonathan’s head, and he stifled his laughter by biting at his cheeks. Sock chugged down his juice and sat back with a satisfied smacking noise, licking at his fingers. Jonathan stood over Sock, blocking the light, and the brunet looked up; Jonathan held out his hand with a wry smirk.

 

“That’ll be $3.95.” Jonathan said, as serious and monotone as he could muster.

 

Sock blinked dumbly and dug around his pockets. “I’ve got two nickels, a chuck-e-cheese token, and a jellybean.”

 

Jonathan frowned inwardly; he already paid for the danish but...Jonathan sighed dramatically and wrenched his wallet out of his pocket, making a big show of his apparent displeasure. Sock smiled at him, both parts grateful and guilty. Jonathan’s face scrunched up in open worry when his back was turned.

 

The rest of the day went by without much fanfare. Sock chatted with other customers and Jonathan, occasionally pulling a chuckle from the blond. Sock found little snacks on his table throughout the day when his back was turned. Neither of them mentioned it, but Sock could see the relief clear on the other’s face when he openly exclaimed how full he was.

 

A couple comfortable hours passed before Jonathan’s shift ended. He glanced back at Sock, who seemed to be dozing off at the table, before slinking to the backroom. Jonathan lazily greeted Lil as she took his place at the counter, getting a tired grunt in reply. Fair enough. He  yanked off that stupid apron and gratefully switched back to his hoodie, quietly sighing in relief. It’s always good to be back in your own skin. Jonathan walked out from behind the counter and left through the front door. He lazily plodded through the sparse crowds on the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pockets. Blank-faced, the blond trudged his way up to the second floor of his apartment building, openly avoiding the elevator and the weird neighbors that rode it. Once or twice, he thought he’d heard footsteps behind him, but instead racked it up to usual paranoia; the old staircase always sounded like that, you know, pipes and stuff. He walked to the end of the hallway and had his key in the lock when-

 

“I just realized, I never got your name.”

 

Jonathan shrieked and hit smashed his against the door. “What are you doing here?” He pawed at his head, willing the dull throbbing away. His glare was weakened with pain and he visibly winced when he prodded a certain spot.

 

“I have nowhere to go,” Sock stared up owlishly through his eyelashes, rocking on the balls of his feet. He clutched a dingy looking bag so hard his knuckles were white. His voice was level, but through the haze of his oncoming headache, Jonathan could see his hands shaking.

 

“Then, I don’t know, find somewhere.” Jonathan grunted bluntly, shuffling into his apartment.

 

Sock moved to follow, “Do you have a guest bed or-”

 

SLAM.

 

“Oh.” Sock stared at the door, unblinkingly. He blew his bangs out of his face and crossed his arms. “Wonderful,” he groaned.

 

With a sigh, Sock leaned against the door with a soft thump and slid down the wall, extending his legs out in front of him.

 

“Better get comfy, I guess.”

\---

 

Jonathan ran his hand through his hair, kicking some discarded clothes away with his foot. It was like noon and he really needed to take out the trash. He vaguely wondered where Sock went, and felt a little bad for leaving him out in the cold the day before. In any case, he could like, go to the police or even go back home, right?

 

He opened the door methodically and almost tripped on something. He looked down and-

 

“What are you still doing here?” Jonathan cried in shock; he winced internally at his volume.

 

Sock rubbed at his eyes, sitting up from his spot on the floor, grinning sleepily. He plucked his bag from where it sat as a makeshift pillow and set it between his splayed legs.

 

“I told you,” he yawned, “I’ve got nowhere to go. Also, no money.” The brunet raised his arms over his head and stretched, audibly popping his spine in a few places, before dropping his hands behind him onto the grimy carpet.  

 

Jonathan dropped his face to his hand, garbage bag still lazily hanging from the other. Sock could hear the blond counting under his breath and muttering to himself.

 

“Get inside.”

 

Sock stood up quickly, stumbling over his sleep-numbed legs, and gave Jonathan a tight hug, looking up at the blond with a bright smile.

 

“Alright already, yeesh, just let me throw this out, okay?”

 

Sock rushed inside with a giggle and Jonathan could already feel the regret coming. He plucked a strand of auburn hair from his tank top with a grimace.

 

The brunet poked his head out, “Oh right, I just remembered, you forgot to take your iPod back yesterday!”

 

Well.  Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

 

“Oh! And I like your pajama pants!” Sock glanced Jonathan over with a grin, “I’d never pegged you as a guy who likes pink leopard print.”

 

Jonathan looked down and felt his face turn pink.

 

“It was a gift!” He cried defensively. He not-so-subtly tried to cover himself with the garbage bag, much to Sock’s amusement.  

 

“Don’t worry Jonathan, it’s not all that bad,” Sock teased, “I’m sure my grandma has a pair just like those!”

 

Jonathan tiredly swung the garbage bag at Sock, but the brunet dodged and went back inside the house, cackling madly. Jonathan rubbed his temples. There goes his uneventful and unexciting life...but between Sock’s big green eyes and the fresh memory of arms around him, Jonathan really couldn’t tell if that was a bad thing or not. Jonathan heard a loud crash from inside the apartment and Jonathan winced.

 

“Better take out the trash I guess,” Jonathan sighed.

 


End file.
